


i'm drowning, i'm drowning

by alexanger



Series: i forget sometimes just how to breathe [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Hospitals, M/M, Suicide Attempt, emeto warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 18:25:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11213697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: Thomas has constant nightmares about this. In his nightmares, he stands and watches while Jemmy writhes, becomes something small and devoid of dignity like a worm wriggling its life away on a hook. He wonders if he's having another nightmare.





	i'm drowning, i'm drowning

**Author's Note:**

> major trigger warning for suicide ideation and attempt.

Thomas lets himself into the apartment, laden with bags of groceries. “You can't have hot sauce, can you, Juggalo?” he calls. “Will it bug you if I eat it? Cause I love you, I really do, but if I eat one more meal without any heat I'll implode.”

There's no answer. “Jeggings?” Thomas tries again, and then, when the silence persists, he says, “Jemmy, are you there?”

He dumps the bags on the counter, pulls out his phone, and calls Jem. There's a moment of silence and then a ring from the bathroom and that's when he gets scared. 

_ He might have fallen,  _ he tries to tell himself.  _ It might not be -  _

He walks into the bathroom and James is on the floor, crumpled like a broken doll, surrounded by empty pill bottles. James makes a horrible noise, almost like cloth tearing, and nothing comes out of his mouth but there's vomit everywhere - on the floor, on his face, on his clothes.

Thomas has constant nightmares about this. In his nightmares, he stands and watches while Jemmy retches and writhes, becomes something small and devoid of dignity like a worm wriggling its life away on a hook. He wonders if he's having another nightmare. 

His hands, though, are moving, not in the sickly slow nightmarish way but in the way they move when he’s disconnected but still present. He sticks his fingers into Jem’s mouth and scoops out as much vomit as he can find, then dials 911 and surprises himself by how calm he is when he says, “ambulance, please, my boyfriend overdosed.” There’s a barrage of questions that he answers as best he can: “At least five different medications. I don’t know exactly how much but I can figure out the amounts by the time he's at the hospital. It can't have been more than two hours ago.”

James arches his back and groans.

“What's your name?” the operator asks. 

“Thomas. He's Jemmy. James.” Thomas hushes him. He reaches up to the sink, turns the tap, wets his fingers, and then wipes a little water on James’ forehead, just enough to cool him a little and clear away some of the sweat beaded there.

“Thomas, do you want me to stay on the phone with you until the ambulance arrives to pick James up?”

“No, thank you,” says Thomas. “He's still conscious and I need to take care of him.”

“Alright.” Thomas can hear the reassuring smile in the operator's voice and he  _ loathes  _ her for it. “Y'all just hold tight, and the vehicle will be there soon.”

Sit tight. What the fuck else is he supposed to do? 

“Thomas,” James croaks. 

“I'm here, baby. Just relax. The ambulance is coming.”

James draws a deep, shuddery breath and sobs, “no!”

“Baby -” He's so lost and he doesn't understand the sudden crying. He can hear a siren in the distance, coming closer. Inside the apartment there's only the sound of Jem’s cracked sobbing. Thomas traces his fingers over Jem’s cheeks and rubs his head and does his best to memorize this precious face, just in case. Just in case. 

There's a buzzing from the intercom near the door. “I need to let them in, Jemmy,” says Thomas. 

“Don't. I want to die at home.”

Thomas doesn't let himself cry. He gently strokes a hand over James’ hair and then gets up to let the paramedics in. They don't take long to get upstairs from the front of the building, and then the calm disaster in their apartment becomes a bustle of noise. 

“We'll take good care of him,” says one of the paramedics, as the other settles James on the stretcher and straps him down. “You can follow to the hospital, if you'd like.”

“I need to go with him,” says Thomas. 

“No, sir. Only family in the ambulance.” To his partner, the paramedic says, “I’ll grab the bottles. Let’s get a line in him as soon as possible.”

“I'm his family!” Thomas protests.

“Friends,” says the paramedic in a firm, final tone, “have to follow. That's policy.”

Thomas takes James’ hand and squeezes it as the paramedic gathers the pill bottles. “I'll be there soon as I can,” he says. 

“I hate you,” says James, as they wheel him out the door. “Don't come.”

Thomas, to his credit, waits until the paramedics are gone and the door is closed to collapse into helpless tears. 

 

* * *

 

The bathroom is clean by the time Thomas’s cab arrives. He’s determined to bring James home to a clean apartment and he knows that once he’s at the hospital, he won’t be leaving until they force him to. If he has his way he won’t be leaving at all until James is coming home with him.

In the cab, he does his best to keep himself calm. He knows it’s not far to the hospital but in his state he knows he can’t track how far he is or where he’s going. There’s too much noise in his head, too much fear and anxiety and guilt, and there’s no room for anything but to breathe.

He wants to ask the cab driver if he could have made a difference - if things would be different if he’d taken James to the store instead of going by himself, or if he’d taken the meds with him, or if he’d put a lock on the cabinet - but he knows that the driver won’t have any answers for him, and it’s a useless question anyway. There’s no going back and changing it.

“He’s in the best possible place he can be,” Thomas says aloud.

“What’s that?” the driver asks.

Thomas shakes his head. “Nothing. Are we close?”

“Yeah.”

They lapse back into silence. Thomas tries to focus himself on fiddling with his fidget cube, but that isn’t enough to calm him. Usually he’s self conscious about flapping but he can’t hold it in anymore, nor can he hold in a soft groan.

“Don’t start freaking out in my cab, man,” the driver says.

“I’m not freaking out. Don’t worry,” Thomas lies.

The cab pulls up right by the emergency doors. Thomas pays, barely registering that he’s tipped way more than he should have, and then all but runs into the hospital.

“James Madison?” he asks.

“Bed seventeen,” says the triage nurse.

So then there’s the hunt for bed seventeen. He should just be able to find a number and count up or down from there, but it’s unnecessarily difficult; he finds that, instead of being able to just follow clearly labelled beds, he can only track down even numbered ones. It’s at least twenty minutes of frantic searching before he finds the odd numbers. All the while, he struggles to shove down the thought that James will have slipped away before he reaches him. It doesn’t make sense - if James was really that close to death, someone would have said something, he reasons. The triage nurse would have told him, or Jemmy would be in urgent care, or  _ something. _

As reasonable as all that is, it doesn’t help. Thomas is absolutely certain the worst is going to happen and he’ll just be stuck in this ER searching for bed seventeen while James dies without him.

By the time bed seventeen appears, laden with a very tired looking James, he can barely breathe. There’s a moment of all-encompassing panic as he takes in the IV and the oxygen tubes. James groans and mumbles, “told you not to come.”

Thomas comes close, perches on on the edge of the bed, and says, “I couldn’t  _ not  _ come. I love you, Jungle gym.”

“Not enough to let me just die.”

“I can’t live without you,” says Thomas. “I know I’m selfish but if I lost you I don’t know what I’d do. I need you. We just started, baby. We just got together and I finally get to do all the things I’ve always wanted to do. I just started being able to kiss you, how am I supposed to stop?”

James turns his head away but Thomas can still see the tears. He looks so tiny laying in his hospital bed. There’s a sickly smell of antiseptic and vomit and something he can’t quite place. “I’m so tired,” says James.

“I know, baby,” Thomas says.

“No, you don’t. You don’t understand what this is like.” James draws a deep, shuddering breath, and continues, “every single day is the worst day of my life. When do I get a break? When do I get to just stop? Why can’t I have a single second where everything stops hurting? The worst thing that could happen to me, the absolute worst thing, is waking up tomorrow morning. The worst thing that could happen is just existing for another day. I’m so  _ tired, _ Thomas. I’m exhausted. I’m fed up with all of this shit, and I want to be  _ done. _ Why can’t I just be done?”

Thomas aches. “I’m sorry it hurts so much,” he says.

“If you were really sorry, you would have let me die,” James mutters.

For a long moment, Thomas doesn’t say anything. Finally, he manages, “how are you feeling?”

“I keep throwing up.” James gestures to the plastic bag in his lap. “They gave me charcoal and put Gravol or something in my IV but it hasn’t fixed the nausea yet. My entire system is on fire, my head is killing me, my mouth tastes like a campfire, and I still want to die. But how are you?”

“You don’t need to ask that,” Thomas says.

“Read the tone,” James snaps. “Sarcasm.”

Embarrassment, white-hot and sickening, floods through him. “Sorry,” he says.

“It’s fine.”

They sit in silence for a while. Thomas breaks it by asking, “can I hold your hand?”

“I guess,” James mutters.

Thomas takes James’ hand, the one the IV isn’t in, and squeezes it. “I love you,” he says. “Even if you’re mad at me. Especially if you’re mad at me. I know you’re upset ‘cause I ruined your plans but can you stay with me anyway? Just for a little while? Give me a couple months.”

“Too long,” says James.

“Okay.” Thomas nods. “Then let’s take it a day at a time. Give me one day to get you through. And we’ll keep going like that.”

There’s a gentle rustle from the curtain and a stranger pokes her head in. “I’m Dr. Dolley Todd,” she says. “The psychiatrist on the ward. Can I speak to James alone for a minute?”

“I want Thomas here,” James says, clinging to his hand fiercely.

“Are you alright with being present, then?” the doctor asks.

“Yes. Of course. If he wants me here, I’m here.”

“Alright.” Dr. Todd draws up a chair and takes off her glasses. It’s a curiously disarming gesture. Thomas likes her soft features, the bun her hair is pulled into, the way her eyes crinkle in an almost-but-not-quite smile. Everything about her seems gentle and calming. “So I understand you took quite a lot of medication tonight, James.”

“Yeah.” Thomas glances over to see James picking at his blanket with his free hand.

“Can you tell me why?”

James barks a hoarse laugh. “It’s pretty obvious. I wanna be dead.”

“Do you want to tell me more about that?”

For a long moment, James is silent. The doctor doesn’t push him. Eventually, he sighs and says, “I’m really sick. Like, probably not gonna make it to thirty. Like, I take a handful of pills every day and we’re adding more all the time. And I’m really tired of it, and everything hurts all the time, and I’m just exhausted.”

“Are you depressed?”

James snorts and says, “that’s an understatement. Depression is a cakewalk compared to this.”

“That’s fair,” says Dolley. “You’re in a very difficult position. Do you have a support network?”

“I have this asshole,” says James.

“That’s me,” says Thomas.

“What’s your relationship?” asks Dolley.

“He’s my boyfriend, and also the worst,” James tells her. “He’s the one who called the ambulance. I haven’t forgiven him yet.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a joke,” Dr. Todd says.

“Don’t worry. I can’t either,” says Thomas.

Dr. Todd smiles. “Well, I have to ask if you intend to do this again.”

James shrugs and says, “no promises either way. Not like I could go home and do it right now - that was all my meds.”

“And you also can’t go home tonight,” Dolley tells him.

James stiffens. “What? Why? I’m fine, I’m not dead, I can go home. I’ll stand up and get ready - Thomas, did you get my crutches? I can leave right now. Where’s the nurse? Get her to take my IV out.”

“Legally,” Dr. Todd says, “we have to hold you for twenty-four hours after a suicide attempt.”

“No,” says James.

“It’s policy, I’m sorry. But if you want to talk about that, I’m more than happy to spend some time with -”

“I can’t stay here,” says James. “Thomas, take me home.”

“I can’t. You have to stay,” says Thomas.

“Thomas, take me home,” James begs. “Please. Please take me home.”

“Baby -”

“Take me home! Please take me home, Thomas, I can’t stay here, I can’t be here all night, I can’t stay in the hospital, please take me home  _ please  _ please Thomas please take me home!”

“Do you want some medication to calm you down?” Dolley asks. Her voice is raised just enough so that she can be heard over James’ frantic pleading. He ignores her and pulls at Thomas’ hands.

“Please take me home!” he sobs. “Please take me home! Please! Thomas, please, I’ll be good, I won’t do it again, I can’t stay here! I need to go home!”

“Baby, take a deep breath,” Thomas says.

_ “Please!”  _ James howls. He’s loud enough that a nurse comes to poke her head in.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“If we could get some Seroquel over here,” says Dolley, “that would be fantastic. Mr. Madison is having a bit of a rough time.”

The nurse nods and disappears. Thomas almost wants to ask her to take him with her.

James’ face is wet with tears. He desperately pulls Thomas toward him, wraps a hand in his shirt and yanks, and screams, “don’t let them keep me here! Please take me home! I don’t want to be here anymore!”

The nurse reappears with a syringe. She uncaps the needle, slides it into one of the ports on James’ IV, and depresses the plunger. It takes a couple minutes for the medication to kick in, but before too long James is falling back against the pillows and loosening his grip on Thomas’s hair.

“Take me home,” he mumbles.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Thomas promises.

“Take me home?” James weeps helplessly, silently, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please?”

“Soon as I can, baby. I’ll take you home as soon as I can. Okay?”

“I wanna go home,” James pleads.

“You go to sleep.” Thomas rubs James’ eyebrows softly. It’s a silly motion, something Thomas did originally to piss him off, but it never fails to calm James. His eyes are half-shut and as Thomas rubs his eyebrows, they close all the way.

“Take me home?” he mumbles.

“Soon, baby. Sleep.”

“Okay,” James says. He holds tight to Thomas’ hand as he drifts off.

When he’s certain James is fast asleep, Thomas turns to Dolley and says, “sorry. He’s having a really rough time lately.”

“Is he seeing someone for all this?”

“Yeah. We have a psychologist he sees regularly. I’ll let her know this happened next time we see her.” Thomas pauses, then adds, “she’s really great, honestly. This is just … a rough patch.”

“I understand. And clearly you’re taking very good care of him. Who takes care of you?”

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” Thomas says. “I take care of myself.”

Dolley nods. “Well, you’re entitled to support for yourself, you know. Keep that in mind.”

“I will. Thank you.” Thomas glances down at James, who’s sleeping with a furrowed brow and a frown on his lips. “I’m gonna curl up in that chair and sleep, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Sleep well, Thomas. It was nice to meet you.” Dolley stands and pushes the chair close to James’ bed.

“Nice to meet you too,” says Thomas. Dolley leaves, and Thomas takes off his hoodie, curls up on the chair, and pulls his hoodie over himself like a blanket. For a few minutes he messes around on his phone but he finds he can’t concentrate on anything, so he tosses his phone onto James’ bedside tray and just watches his boyfriend sleep.

“Night, baby,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Thomas is exhausted, but the kind of exhausted that means he’ll get no rest. Still, there’s no use keeping himself up any longer. He may as well attempt to relax.

So he closes his eyes.

He closes his eyes and fails to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> chat to me at [alexangery.tumblr.com](http://alexangery.tumblr.com)


End file.
